


Warmth In A Cold Caravan

by kapakoscheisigma



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Undercover as couple, very brief mentions of childhood sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kapakoscheisigma/pseuds/kapakoscheisigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Innocent receives a request from the Cornwall constanbulary and sends Lewis and Hathaway undercover to investigate. Staying in a holiday park gives Lewis time to reflect on his feelings for James and take action...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hathaway had been silent for most of the drive down, and grumpy about changing over half way, at Clifton services, when Lewis had had enough of motorway driving. Probably apprehension, Lewis decided. The lad had never been undercover before. And although Lewis had, it hadn’t been like this, for another force, with someone else. When he’d pretended to be a porter at least he had got to go home at night – that was until Morse decided to send him on that bloody European tour. But fortunately Morse had figured it out before he got to board the ferry. Mind you, he was leaving no one at home except for Monty, and Laura had said she’d call by and feed the fat bugger.

They arrived to a windswept caravan park on a cliff over looking a stormy grey sea, out of season and cold and rainy. Lewis instantly thickened his accent and adopted a harder, more macho stanch. He was supposed to be a crook, after all. James was – well, he couldn’t figure out what the hell he was supposed to be in Innocent’s mind. His boyfriend, he supposed. His toy boy, really. His tall, skinny blond posh totty! He stared back at the car. James sat at the wheel, biting his thumbnail and rocking slightly, looking for all as if he hated the world, a real teenage, stroppy scowl on his face.

Lewis had been gobsmacked when Innocent had called him in. when she told him of the request from Cornwall for a couple of CID officers to pose as - what? The Cornwall constabulary were concerned that that this caravan park was being used in the winter months for people trafficking, prostitution and drug smuggling. They wanted someone to be taking a winter holiday and drop hints they were on the run, left Oxfordshire in a hurry because the police were on their trail and see what was revealed in confidence. Finding evidence was a bonus.

Lewis had been running DCs through his head, a man and a woman, to pair together to recommend when Innocent told him it was to be him and Hathaway posing as a couple. Other than being on the run and suggesting perhaps he could pose as a pimp, Innocent had given him little else.

And when he had told Hathaway the lad just closed down. Hardly said a word for days, and on the journey today other than insist that his guitar came with them when he’d picked the boy up and to ask if they could stop at some services so he could use the bathroom and have a smoke he’d not said a word that day.

It was early evening and they stood in the living room/kitchenette area of the caravan, Hathaway scowling furiously as Lewis picked up his bags as well as his own to carry through to the bedroom.

“We might be watched,” he said simply to the scowl.

“I... I...” Hathaway blushed to the roots of his blond hair, tips of his ears as well. Lewis thought it incredibly cute.

“Of course, if you try anything on sergeant, I’ll smack your teeth out,” Lewis said cheerfully, a joke.

Hathaway flushed a deeper red and bit on his thumbnail furiously. “I would... I could... never...!”

“I was teasing, James. Make us a cup of tea, lad, and then nip outside for a smoke.”

James didn’t stay outside long, Lewis doubted he had the time to finish a whole cigarette. He had ice in his hair when he came in, sitting at the table and cupping his hands around his mug of tea.

“It’s sleeting,” he announced glumly, scowling into his mug.

“Sergeant, snap out of this!” Lewis instructed.

“Out of what, pray tell, Sir?” Hathaway’s voice dripped with irony.

“Out of this mood. We’ve got a job to do, and that involves us giving the impression we’re together.”

“Fine. Stop calling me Hathaway and sergeant then.”

“Only if you stop calling me Sir.”

“Oh, of course, Robbie,” Hathaway emphasized nastily.

Lewis wouldn’t rise to the bait. “Well, then,” he said. “I meant this massive sulk James. Come on, stop all these deep scowls and theatrical sighs. You’re worse than my bloody kids when they were toddlers and look like a bloody prima donna.”

“I thought I was supposed to have been dragged by my boyfriend –” here Hathaway made speech quotations in the air around the word boyfriend, “- from a lovely big house in the Oxfordshire countryside to a shitty caravan in the sleet from a police inquiry into his business practice. I thought I was doing a good job of acting the part.”

“Well, don’t bury yourself in the part. What was all this week then? Method acting?”

“Um...”

“It’s alright James. So, did you pack food? I’ve starved.”

“Did you tell me to pack food?”

“Er, no, I just assumed –”

“What? That I can read your mind?”

“Well, we’ll have to eat at the clubhouse then. We’re supposed to be mingling, sussing them out, anyhow.”

James sighed dramatically.

“And we can go shopping in the morning. Got to get to town to report in, haven’t we?” Lewis added.

**

When they walked into the bar the room fell silent, save for Rihanna on the sound system. Everyone stared for a few moments before Lewis nodded politely and Hathaway bared his teeth in a nervous smile. Lewis ordered two pints and pointed at a corner table, as far from everyone else as possible. Obediently Hathaway walked to the corner table, feeling rather than seeing men’s eyes on him, or rather his bum in his tight jeans. He wished he’d kept his coat on, but he’d left it by the door with Lewis’. He sat down and stared into space. Most of the people here were either older white men, except for the three shaven-headed, multi-tattooed, in T-shirts despite the cold, younger white males, or women – young white women with Eastern European accents or young brown or yellow skinned women with Far Eastern accents.

Lewis joined him, placing a pint in front of him. “They don’t do food in the winter, but I persuaded them to do us something. Steak and kidney pie and chips do you?”

“Whatever,” Hathaway snarled, in a tone that implied he’d rather starve.

“Bloke there,” Lewis nodded towards the bar, “said it was a strange time for a holiday. I said I needed to get away fast for a bit. He asked why, told him to mind his business.”

“Well, shouldn’t we...?” Hathaway looked about him; they might be overheard. “You shouldn’t let people know, Robbie, they might, you know...” He looked about again. He hoped they were overheard. “Maybe they’re in the same business as you? By the looks of the place.”

“Doesn’t do to make assumptions,” Lewis said, but he made a show of looking about through narrowed eyes. Hathaway was in awe of his boss’ performance. He didn’t seem like him at all. His entire body language, the way he held himself, the way he spoke, had all changed. It was incredibly – frighteningly – sexy!

Almost an hour later, while Lewis was tucking into his pie and chips, and half of Hathaway’s, while Hathaway was dismembering his pie and picking at it, trying to find the steak and avoid the slimy kidney, when a man approached the table, running his fingers along Hathaway’s shoulder blades and touching his hair, and then cheek. Hathaway flinched. Over the past hour the women had disappeared, then reappeared a while later in considerably less clothing, while the quantity of older white men appeared to have doubled, if not tripled.

“How much for your bitch?” the man asked Lewis.

Lewis’ head snapped up and he glared hostilely. Hathaway had flinched again and appeared to be curling into himself. Lewis stood, balling his fists. “James is not for sale!” he growled.

The man ruffled James’ hair again as if he were a child. James felt himself curling up further, inwardly as well as outwardly. He hated himself. He should say something; stick up for himself. He felt frozen.

“I don’t want to buy him, just rent him. How much for a blowjob? He has a gorgeous mouth.”

Lewis watched Hathaway flinch again, saw the frightened small boy inside he’d seen after the Black case, and before he’d even realised it his fist had impacted on the man’s nose, spurting blood.

“I said he’s not for sale!” Lewis yelled, adding for good measure in a threatening Geordie growl without thinking about it, “He’s mine!” He was pulling back his fist for another punch, the red mist before his eyes still, when an iron grip caught hold of his wrist.

Everything was pandemonium for a moment. The bouncer, if indeed he was that, restrained Lewis at the same time as the caravan park’s owner was apologizing to Lewis for the misunderstanding while his business partner or manager attended to the ‘customer’, apologizing for the actions of Lewis, offering compensation and a girl for free while mopping up the blood and assuring him no, his nose wasn’t broken.

Meanwhile, shaking, Hathaway had pushed himself up by the table, knocking the chair backwards on the floor, and was running out of the bar.

Five minutes later Lewis joined him, bringing him his coat, and finding him squatting on the ground, shivering and hugging himself, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Wordlessly, Lewis bent and gently put a hand to Hathaway’s elbow and pulled him to his feet. He wrapped the thick, black tailored wool coat about him. Hathaway leaned into the touch as Lewis held the coat about his shoulders, almost a hug. He breathed out, deeply.

“S-sorry sir.”

“I’m the one who needs to apologize James. For losing it. I almost blew it.”

“I wouldn’t say so Sir. Cops don’t tend to punch people in the face.” James snorted.

They had been speaking in low whispers. Lewis looked about him; worried they might be overheard. He could see no one, but then heard scuffled footsteps. An Asian woman came into view, barefoot on the icy ground, holding her stiletto-heeled boots in one hand, a spiff in the other. On her break, thought Lewis, if tarts get breaks. CSI Wycliffe had been right. But were these women here willingly, providing their ‘services’ by choice, or were they somehow controlled, forced, coerced and terrorized? More and more sex workers in Britain were trafficked women. It was appalling. Lewis was thankful he was neither vice nor immigration. Murder was so much more straightforward, and somehow, less horrific and immoral than imprisonment and repeated rape, the dehumanising ownership of one human of another. And that man had thought he’d... that he was prepared to...

“Robbie?” James questioned, aware someone was near by. His boss was gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Sorry pet. You okay now?”

James slipped his arms into his coat and sighed. “I’d rather not go back in there.”

“It’s okay. You go back to the caravan, love. I’m gonna have a couple of beers, though, alright?” He pulled James into and embrace, putting his hand to the back of his neck to bend it, pulling James’ head down to whisper into his ear as it might appear to an onlooker that he might be kissing him. “I’ve gotta go back, James. Wycliffe’s on to something. I have to gather as much info as possible.” For some inexplicable reason he genuinely kissed James neck and nipped his ear lobe before he pulled away, saying, “Besides, they’ve offered me free drinks to make up for thinking you’re... well, you know, a tart.”

James had blushed at the kiss, gasped at the nip and was struggling to think of anything rational to say. Eventually, struggling not to break undercover as the two owners or owner and manager came up to them, he mumbled, “Shall I light the fires in the caravan, Robbie?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be great. I’ll be an hour, maybe two. Alright pet?”

“Um. Yeah.” James lit his cigarette and strode off towards the caravans.

“Is he okay? Your boyfriend? Seemed a bit offended. Nervous even?”

“He’s fine. He’s a bit delicate, though. Ex-seminary boy. Keep him separate from me businesses. Coming down here –” Robbie gestured about him. “- bit of a shock for him. A mate recommended your place as somewhere safe to hang out for a while” Robbie narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders and glared. “I hope he was right.”

“You’re fine here. Safe.”

“Sorted,” said the manager or business partner. “Come and have a drink. Floor show’s about to start, although it probably isn’t your cup of tea.”

“Dunno, me taste is a bit diverse,” Robbie said. “Let’s get it, it’s brass monkeys out here.” He headed back to the side door, fire exit really, that Hathaway had run out of, carefully listening to the conversation behind him while appearing not to notice.

“That guy’s a regular, you know? Who’d have thought he was bi?”

“We should branch out. Get us a couple of boys.”

“Can you?”

“Bangkok. Must be boys there desperate to get to the West you could exploit.”

Lewis hated what he was hearing. He sat at the back. His pie and chips were cold so he ate cheese and onion crisps and a packet of peanuts all washed down with piss poor beer. All the time with Morse had educated him into appreciating the real deal.

The ‘floor show’ was piss poor too; pole dancing, some lap dancing and a couple of girls pretending to be lesbians making out unconvincingly. What kind of man was turned on by that Robbie wondered. It disgusted him. The whole thing disgusted him. Men who had no respect for women as human beings, just objects of lust to sate themselves on. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach. Most men here probably had wives at home too. They usually did. He really, truly hoped these women had chosen to demean themselves, sell themselves, even is it were for desperate reasons of poverty and addiction, but as he kept his ears and eyes open over the night, he doubted it more and more.

Lewis kept his face neutral, his eyes glazed, watching but not seeing scantily clad skinny girls humiliate themselves for dirty sad bastards wanting to pay. For Lewis sex was love and love was sex. Mostly. There were times since Val was gone he had felt so bloody horny... mostly in the last five years looking at his pretty sergeant. God James was gorgeous. Gorgeous and out of reach. He had never felt like this about someone he’d worked with before. Loved, yes. Fond of Ali, felt like Morse was his Dad and he was his in equal measure. Loved the old bastard, missed him like crazy, almost as much as Val. Kids flown the coop too, he was so bloody alone.

The shit beer was making him maudlin, he ought to pay attention without seeming to. He was working!

Once he’d been a hormonally charged teenager, but even then he doubted he would have liked this. Looked, yes, reacted physically, but the idea of humiliating and demeaning a person would have offended even a young pre feminism Robbie, he knew. Probably his socialist, Methodist parents upbringing. His Mam would like James, he was sure.

Poor James, thought Lewis, his mind going back to the Black/Graham case. He doesn’t know what he is, what he wants. He thought of his silly non-answer in the Will McEwan/Feadorcha Phelan business. Some people might have taken it to mean ‘I’m bisexual’, others ‘none of your business’ which is exactly what he had right up to Crevecoeur Hall. Then he wondered if he hadn’t meant ‘I don’t know’. And then, of course, that business with the Yorkie bar and Loaded magazine he’d taken to mean ‘can we please get back to normal Sir and please don’t ask me again’.

That man had been right though. James Hathaway had a gorgeous mouth. Made to kiss. And yeah, maybe, like the guy said, made for giving blowjobs.

What was he thinking? James Hathaway was his sergeant! There were rules and James was celibate! Lewis stumbled to his feet and headed for the bar for more free beer. His compensation. These men sold women to other men, they’d mistook James for a prostitute and they were compensating him, not James! Like James was no more a person to them than their working girls.

But he was considered the same as them, an equal. Well that was good as he’d gone out of his way to do the hard, wrong side of the law, crooked businessman thing. Good for work, but on the other hand...

But on the other hand you punched that man saying ‘he’s mine!’ a small critical part of his mind told Lewis, sounding all the world like Morse in his head: “You’re possessive of him, aren’t you Lewis?”

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been mistaken for a couple, for gay, before. The Rachel Mallory case had only been the first, but probably still the funniest to date.

Be nice, Lewis found himself thinking. Living with him, eating his home cooked food, adopting kids together, looking for schools for them together; Sunday lunches, family picnics, cuddled up on the sofa watching TV once the kids were in bed. All domestic and cozy. Had it once with Val. Greedy to want it again.

If he wanted it again he’d want it with James.

“Face it Lewis, you only want James,” said Morse’s voice in his head. “I certainly approve of him for you.” Lewis, freaked, crashed to his feet to get yet another beer. “That beer however, is another matter...” chuckled Morse’s voice before fading away from his brain.

Another beer gone, floor show ended, girls going off with men to nearby caravans and coming back to go off with others, yet another beer gone and a conversation with the owners – they were joint owners and brothers, or step-brothers, apparently. It was useful, productive. Lewis switched to malt whisky.

He is gay, though, Lewis thought once he was alone again. For all his religious guilt and God knows what Mortmaigne did to him. Before we even attended McEwan’s body I’d noticed. At the university boxing club he was certainly looking, really looking at some of those lads. That time with Hope Ransome, bless the sweet girl, her bodyguard and James. Fancied each other rotten, could see that, all the time James was deluding himself. Not a bat squeak of sexuality between him and Fiona, probably why she dumped him, she could see she was being used as a shield, a fake girlfriend to convince himself he was normal. He thinks like that, thinks he’s disordered, sinful. Poor boy. He’s a daft lad, that’s for sure, his own worse enemy. But that time, it was screaming loud, him and - what was he called? Coleman? Yeah, him and Coleman, making eyes at each other. If he hadn’t been so devoted to Hope, to his duty, if he’d been a bit less busy...

James would have run a mile for all his fluttered eyelashes and demur smiles. Just as well as I’d have been jealous as hell! James IS mine. All those little shivers when I touch him, all that leaning against me, brushing up against me, staring at me with naked adoration like a schoolboy with his first crush.

God. Am I? First crush? At thirty something? Mine you, how was he when we first met. 25? 26? Young enough for me to balk at what I was feeling and then it was only lust. And I don’t act on lust. Don’t believe in it. But then the lad maybe a late starter what with being nearly a priest and the bloody awful childhood between them.

**

Lewis actually stayed until the place closed at midnight. He talked of his fictional businesses – brothels, money lending, taxi drivers who ferried his call girls, the taxi company his legitimate front – and made contacts regarding people trafficking. It really had been that simple and he hadn’t even been that sober! It was a shame he hadn’t a wire. Still, all he had to do was confirm suspicions and it was up to Wycliffe’s team to gather evidence.

When he finally left he went first to the gents to empty some of that beer. As he stood at the urinal his eyes were drawn to the well-stocked condom dispenser. After he washed his hands he found himself feeding money in and selecting the extra strong teatless variety with extra lube that also came with a little sachet of KY Jelly in the pack. Be prepared, they’d always said when he was a Wolf Cub back in the day.


	2. Chapter 2

James was curled up inside a sleeping bag in front of the lit gas heater, radio on playing BBC Radio 3 softly in the background, reading a Penguin classic, Lewis couldn’t read what. James looked up as Lewis stumbled through the door, trying and failing to hide how drunk he was.

“Sir! You’re drunk!”

“What? Yeah. A bit. Result though. Be a love and get us a coffee pet. You look different.” Lewis flopped on the sofa and squinted at Hathaway. “Glasses? Yeah, you got glasses on. Suits you. Makes you look a bit like a blond David Tennant.”

“Oh? And is that good Sir?” Hathaway asked wriggling out of his sleeping bag.

“Fancy the tenth Doctor,” confessed Lewis.

“Isn’t that compulsory?” returned Hathaway from the kitchenette. He carried coffee over to his boss and knelt at his feet.

“Maybe,” Lewis countered. “Your eyelashes are blond! They match your hair. They don’t normally.”

“What?”

“You wear mascara sergeant?”

“I really don’t think that’s...”

“You do! That’s vain!”

“Why? Would it be if I were female?”

Lewis thought. “Probably not,” he conceded. “Whatever. No mascara and glasses, you’re still pretty.”

“Pretty?!”

“Yup. Pretty. No one tell you that before?”

“Augustus did,” Hathaway said bitchily.

Lewis stared. “Bloody hell!” He sipped his coffee. Perfect as always. “What’s with the sleeping bag?”

“I thought I’d sleep here on the sofa. The other bedroom is for children, I’m too tall to fit on either of the bunks in there.”

“You’re in with me James, we might be watched. I said before. No ifs, no buts.”

James looked down and shuffled back to near the fire, unzipping his sleeping bag and shrugging it about him. Lewis gazed at him as he sipped his coffee. He had grey bootleg cut lounge pants slung low over his narrow hips and a tight white sleeveless T-shirt. Around his neck was a gold crucifix. James touched the cross on the chain and fiddled with it as Lewis stared. He swallowed.

“Well Sir. I’ll go to bed then. Shall I switch everything off?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

**

In the small bathroom Lewis stared at himself before pulling on his old, threadbare, baggy blue T-shirt over his equally old M&S pyjama trousers. He had a definite paunch, middle aged spread and although he was lucky, his hair had only thinned on top a little and he had hardly any grey apart form a touch at his temples the same couldn’t be said of his chest – his body hair seemed to more than make up for the lack of signs of old age, more grey and white than dark brown these days and it suddenly bothered him terribly. He looked old, old grey and flabby. How could James want him? The lad gave mixed signals ant the best of times: ‘I’m celibate!’, ‘I can’t stop looking at you!’, ‘I shake when you touch me!’... It was endless torture, Lewis now realised. No wonder he sometimes got so grumpy with his sergeant, he was just so bloody desperate to hold him, kiss him, look after the fucked up boy.

Lewis knew he was very drunk, probably, but surely not all that drunk? Drunk enough to not be thinking clearly maybe, but he decided that something had to finally be done. He transferred the condom and lube sachet from jeans to pyjama pocket. Then he pulled on the T-shirt and brushed his teeth really well. James would probably panic and it would be a waste of time, rush out to sleep on the sofa or even lock himself in the bathroom before demanding a transfer in the morning. But this had gone on long enough; someone had to do something!

**

James was still reading, sitting up in bed, glasses still on. He’d chosen the left side of the bed, which, Lewis decided, was so like James – noticing the side of the bed he slept on at home. Leaving, after almost ten years, a space for Val. God, he missed her, it was still like a physical ache, an itch like an amputee might get where their legs were. She’d want him to be happy, he knew, find love again, of course she would. He would have wanted the same for her. They’d even talked about that – he was the one in the high-risk job, not her. Police more likely got killed at work than classroom assistants. Mind you, these days in some inner city schools... Selfishly he often wished it was him, him gone first, him hit by the car, him putting her through the pain and anguish, loneliness, emptiness, bewilderment and anger. She had always, always feared she was going to lose him, too. A few months before he’d lost her two police officers had been gunned down in Liverpool and she couldn’t get it out of her head, the what ifs...? And yet, she was gone.

James was looking at him strangely. “Are you alright Sir?” He put his book down.

Lewis was still by the door. He came in, closing the door and climbing into bed next to James. “It’s warm in here, really, despite the thin walls and the cold and snow.”

“Snow?” James shuddered.

“Sleet and snow. Can’t decide.”

“Well, I’ve had both the heaters on here and the living room up full since I got back. You were gone more than four hours Sir.”

“Was I? Sorry James. And don’t call me Sir. And yeah, to answer your question, I am alright. I just... sometimes I get lost, you know? Thinking and remembering. Val. Especially after a few beers. I was thinking how she’s want me to be happy, you know, move on, find someone. Be happy again.”

“Have you found someone Sir?”

“I think so. Dunno. Long time ago, really, just I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake on them, and my own feelings. I dunno, one look at Val and I just knew, this has taken longer, a lot longer. Slow. This is... How are you James? After, you know...? I think Innocent sort of had this in mind, choosing you and me together like that.”

“What? For you to pimp me?”

“Sort of. Yeah. Maybe. It worked though, I got lots of info. Indicated if we stay around I’d invest in them. Guess we need to debrief Wycliffe’s team and take it from there. We can shop tomorrow and meet them in town.”

“Can’t we go home now, if we’ve got what the Chief Super wants?”

“No James, we have to stay, not arouse suspicion. We have to be here in the raid, if there is one, get ‘arrested’ even. It’s how it works.”

“Oh.” James scowled and Lewis knew it wasn’t some undercover character scowl, it was genuine, but he ribbed him anyway,

“Burying yourself in the part again sergeant?”

“No! Oh, sorry Sir, I just...” James turned to look at his boss rather than at the duvet where he had been picking at a piece of cotton. “What did you tell them, about me? If you got them thinking you ran brothels and ran call girls. I wasn’t a very good call boy was I? Didn’t even act like your bitch.”

“I told them the truth. Well bits of it anyhow.”

“The truth?! What?!”

“Aye, the truth, that you were almost a priest, that you were naive and innocent and all mine, that I kept you separate from my businesses. Okay, that last bit wasn’t true, but the rest, is, isn’t it?”

“Naive and innocent!” James squeaked in protest, glaring.

“Aren’t you?”

“No, I...”

Lewis stared at him.

“S’pose,” huffed James, turning his back to his boss, thumping the pillow and lying down, slamming his glasses onto the nightstand.

The condom burned a hole in Lewis’ pocket. He switched off the light and put his hand lightly on James’ shoulder. “I said – jokingly – I’d knock your teeth out. Would you do the same to me?”

“What?” James rolled on his back and squinted up in the near darkness at his boss.

Lewis put his hand on James’ belly, spreading his fingers so his index finger slipped under the T-shirt and his little one under the waistband of James’ lounge pants.

“Uh!” James gasped.

“Would you?” Lewis asked again, stroking James’ cheekbone delicately with his other hand, just the fingertips, the merest of light brush of skin and skin. James had barely any stubble despite the lateness of the hour. His skin was so soft. Lewis traced his fingers to those full, soft lips.

“What would you do my beautiful boy, if I tried something? Not knock my teeth in, I know.”

Lewis moved his other hand up, pushing up the T-shirt, his calloused hand sliding across the jutting hipbone, the softest of down on James’ belly to his breastbone and ribs. He could feel each and every one.

“Oh, my bonny lad, you need to eat more.”

“Sir?” James gasped. “You’re drunk. You shouldn’t...” he stumbled out, continuing gasp at the gentle touches as Lewis’ fingers found one nipple.

“Would you say no? Let me? Cry out? Just cry? Or curl up into yourself like you were last year during the Black case? Like you were a few hours ago?”

Lewis cupped James’ chin and bent forward to kiss him gently, the lightest of kisses, lips pressed to soft lips, no more. James trembled beneath him.

“It’s... it’s a sin. And you’re straight!”

Lewis rolled himself on top of James and rocked himself against him, letting him know how drunk he wasn’t, how straight he wasn’t, what the merest of light touching of James had done to him.

“Oh!” James gasped as he felt his boss’ hard on press into him. He instinctively opened his legs more, wrapping long legs around Lewis’ thighs and one arm around Lewis’ back. He reached up and put his other hand to Lewis’ head and pulled him down as he arched his neck to kiss his boss, opening his mouth to allow Lewis’ tongue access, sliding his own tongue over Lewis’ top lip and snaggled teeth. He began to respond, growing hard himself, whimpering a little as Lewis nipped his bottom lip with sharp teeth before pulling away, smiling down at him.

“It’s still a sin,” James moaned as they pulled apart, conflicted as he had never been with his love for Lewis and his love of God and faith. Loving from afar could be pure, and impure thoughts confessed and repented. He couldn’t confess this, he’d have to stop, and if Lewis wanted him back he didn’t ever want it to stop. It was too wonderful. But maybe he was dreaming? He cried out in wonder, “But I love you too much!”

“I know you do pet, I know you do. And I love you. Is this love such a sin then? Is it? I’m not going anywhere, my beautiful bonny lad. I don’t do casual sex and I don’t use people. I love you James and love isn’t sinful, is it? But let’s slow things down, yeah?”

Lewis rolled off him and sat up, pulling off his t-shirt before reaching down to tug at James’. James quickly helped him pull off his own top.

“But... but why?” he asked in wonder.

“I could have killed that bastard for putting his hands on you, for thinking he could... buy you. It was primal. It made me realise how much I care for you, how much... I love you. And how much I want you too. Got me thinking too, made me admit it, all I feel, how bloody gorgeous you are, how perfect you for me, thinking how much I want you, here, like this. Bugger regulations, bugger age differences, every bloody thing except you and me. Things have been stopping me for years. Rules and age and your religion, and bugger that too, coz it is not a sin, to show love, and it is love, James, I love you pet. I’m not going to use you, whatever other men may have done to you, women to. I love you and I’d marry you, if you’d have me.”

James sat up, snapping the light on, “What? What did you just say to me?”

Lewis’ scanned his sozzled brain. He’d said a lot. Poured his heart out. Could he do it again? “Dunno. Which part? I just said a lot. More than I ever do. I said I fancy you, love you, need you? I said love isn’t a sin. What part in particular did you want repeating pet?”

“Sir! You ARE drunk! You are going to regret all of this. You don’t mean...”

“Who are you to say I don’t mean every word? I love you! Didn’t mean to insult your faith, sorry about that, okay? But James love, don’t hate yourself. You say you love me too...”

“Uh! Uh!” James’ bottom lip trembled as he struggled to compose himself.

“I was listing everything that held me back for the past five years.” Lewis checked them off on his finger. “First, I only fancied you and not loved you. I only do love. Then there was regulations, the job. Your age. I’m old enough to be your father. Your faith and guilt and that. Your denial of yourself. Your celibacy. Your childhood. And that’s the only one that’s gonna still hold me back, alright? But I’ll help you pet, okay? We can do things as slowly and how you like. I love you and you say you love me. We can make it work, can’t we?”

“Marry you said?”

“Yeah. Love, sex, marriage. Same thing. You talk about sin, and I used to believe in sin, once, too. And sex without love is wrong, it damages people, twists up their insides. Seen that enough on the job, without being taught it as a kid, and the state my Val was in when we met. But love is never wrong. You are what you are James, aren’t you? And that is gay, isn’t it?”

“But you’re not!”

“Fancied men before Val. Had a bit of a time as a lad with boys and girls, you know, meself. Never went the whole way, but what teenager doesn’t experiment. The whole bisexual thing went with the whole glam rock and prog rock thing back when I was young, you know? Maybe not, you being born at the end of the seventies, but you know everything James, don’t you? Clever lad like you, into all sorts of music. Looked at men and women when we were together. Never done anything, I never would have cheated, but a man can look, can’t he? Do you get what I’m saying James? I’m not straight.”

“Oh! But you said...”

“Think we’ve done talking,” Lewis said, putting a hand to James’ chest and pushing him back down on the bed and rolling on top of him again, he kissed him again, far more aggressively than before. James yielded, opening his mouth and legs, making little happy whimpering noises as Lewis moved his hands down, putting his pants down and grabbing his prick. James bucked his hips at his touch and pulled his mouth away to gasp,

“Sir, if you don’t slow down, I... I’ve not... I’ll...”

Lewis released him, pushed up and rested on his elbows. “I’ll been a while for me too lad. What do you want of me, eh?”

“I... I...” James blushed. “I would like you to screw me but I’m so nervous. I’ve not done that since...”

Lewis put a finger to James’ lips. “S’sh. We won’t think of that here, okay? That doesn’t count. You’ve never done it, say that, okay?”

James nodded and kissed the finger and sucked it before saying, “I’ve never done that before but I want so much but...”

“We have all the time in the world pet,” Lewis said before kicking off his pyjama trousers. “It’s been a while for me, we’re talking seriously premature if I fuck you, I’d come the minute I was inside.”

“We couldn’t anyway, we don’t have...”

“Says who?” laughed Lewis. “Always be prepared, that’s my motto. I got one in the gents. But not for now love,” he said, kissing James deeply again and pressing his weight down, rocking and thrusting, pushing hard prick against hard prick until James was moaning. Lewis slid a hand between them and clumsily tried to hold both of their cocks in one hands. A couple more desperate thrusts James cried out, hot liquid spurting between their bellies and running down James’ hips. A couple of strokes and Lewis came to, his cum adding to the hot fluid mess!

James lay back under Lewis, panting heavily, staring wide-eyed up at Lewis. “Did we just...? I just...?”

Lewis laughed happily. “Yes we did pet. And a right mess we’ve made too.”

“Oh God! They’re not our sheets. I’m going die of embarrassment when they...”

“Oh, hush your fussing pet. Stay still and do not move a muscle.” Carefully Lewis reached down and grabbed his t-shirt, and James’ and sat up, wiping himself and them James, who was much more coated than he. There seemed an inordinate amount, but he guessed it was double the cum so there would be. He threw the sopping t-shirts on the floor. “Now then, all gone,” he said gently. “And if you don’t need the loo, snuggle down. I do so I’ll be back in a sec love.”

It was cold out of bed, the gas heaters’ effect having worn off, and he pulled back on his pyjamas and fetched another t-shirt from his bag before going to the toilet.

“Old age has its disadvantages,” he said as he got back into bed with James. “Morse used to grumble about the amount he needed to pee. Know what he meant now.” He held out and arm and James snuggled into him, head on his shoulder, arm and leg clinging to him like a limpet.

“I love you,” he whispered sleepily.

“Me too love,” Lewis said back gently.


	3. Chapter 3

Lewis woke first to the cry of seagulls and the buffering of wind and the pattering rain or sleet. It was barely light. James shivered beside him, duvet half kicked off. Lewis touched the lad. His skin was like ice. He leapt up and lit the gas fire before rooting around James’ bag and pulling out a mauve hooded top. He tried to rouse James but he mumbled, but he cooperated half asleep while Lewis manoeuvred him into the top and lounge pants. He tucked the duvet tight around the boy before pulling on a sweater over his t-shirt and padded down the length of the caravan and putting on the kettle. Luckily James had packed tea, coffee and milk if nothing else. The milk was nearly gone and they were expected to be a week here, at least, so they had to shop. They could always bill Cornwall Police.

He’d had two cups, lit the fire, figured out the TV and found the news, phoned CSI Wycliffe by the time James appeared at the door of the living/kitchen area, wrapped in the duvet.

“You do regret it!” he wailed, and Lewis was horrified to notice tear stains on James’ cheeks.

“No! Oh God no! Do you!” Lewis was on his feet in an instant, heading for James. “I love you, my bonny lad. I told you I was going nowhere, didn’t I?”

“Why did you put my clothes back on me, couldn’t you stand to see what you’d done, what you’d had?” James sounded a bit hysterical.

Lewis wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly, kissing his neck, his cheek, he chin, anywhere he could reach with the skinny tall thing muffled in a fat king sized quilt. “Oh, James pet, you were frozen love. I woke up and you’d moved away from me and kicked of the duvet. You were like ice to touch, pet. Honestly, what a silly thing to think. How about I make you a cup of tea and then we’ll get ready to...”

Lewis was silenced with James kissing him. He kissed back for all he was worth, pushing James and duvet backward along the tiny corridor to the master bedroom of the caravan. In no time at all he had them both undressed and under the duvet. The gas fire had done its job and it was so much warmer. James was kissing his face, his neck, his shoulders, while holding his head gently, spreading his legs under him, bucking his hips up, telling Lewis over and over that he loved him, all of him.

“Don’t know what you see in me lad, I’m no oil painting, old I am, flabby, fat even, and grey, so bloody grey, and going bald...”

“I love everything,” said James, rolling them over so he was on top, kissing the thinning top of his head and moving down to kiss greying chest, “everything, everything...” he murmuring into Lewis’ skin.

Lewis smiled happy and grabbed himself handfuls of James’ bum to pull him tighter against him. He flipped them both over.

“Will you screw me this time?” James asked in a husky voice, the same voice he’d used on the phone to Lovelines all those years ago. Lewis found it bloody erotic. He bit James’ ear lobe before whispering,

“If you want me to.”

“I do, if you do...”

Lewis moved his mouth down over James’ neck, shoulder, chest, before nipping playfully at his nipple before moving back up to kiss his mouth. James arched his back under him, moaning softly, digging his bitten fingertips into Lewis’ shoulders.

“Now?!” James cried out, feeling the fullness of his boss’ hard on press his down.

“Sure?” Lewis propped himself up and looked down, scrutinizing James’ face. He worried James would have some kind of guilt ridden panic attack if they did this particular act. He also worried that he’d have flashbacks to his childhood at Crevecoeur Hall. But at the same time, oh God, he wanted it so much!

“Uh huh!” James nodded.

“How do you want to...?” Lewis began, kneeling up.

“I... I don’t know what I’m doing!” Lewis could tell James didn’t like to admit that, about anything!

“If this is your first time on your knees might be easiest, unless you want to see me...?”

“I want to see you, please Sir... Robbie, not like... him... not on my knees like...”

Lewis was instantly lying on top of James again, showering him in tiny, gentle kisses, “S’sh. S’sh. We don’t talk about that here. It’s your first time, we agreed, yes?”

“I love you. I’ve waited so long...”

Lewis decided he best take charge. Firstly he fetched the condom and lube from his pocket, from his pyjamas lying on the foot of the bed, then knelt between James legs and lifted the lad’s thighs to rest on his. He took one of James’ ankles and raised it, resting it on his shoulder.

“Comfortable?” he checked.

James was biting the skin on his thumbnail, looking up at him with equal adoration and terror. “Uh huh,” he nodded.

“If you don’t like it, or I hurt you, or...” Lewis swallowed, “... or you get bad memories, you tell me, okay? I’m only doing what you want, okay?”

James nodded again.

Lewis ripped open the packet and took out the sachet of lube and ripped a corner open, squeezing a little onto his index finger. He gently rubbed his finger along the crease, getting James used to the sensation of being touched and the lube, watching his face for clues. James sighed happily. Encouraged, Lewis pushed in his finger. James gasped and pushed his fist into his mouth.

“Okay?”

“Fine. Yes fine. Think. No. Am. Thank you.”

“Sure?” Lewis moved his finger gently, pulling it almost out and pushing back in. James gasped again, but he looked relaxed enough so Lewis started a gentle, slow rhythm trying different angles until James actually moaned deeply. Lewis started a faster, firmer rhythm of thrusting his finger at that angle.

“Oh! Oh! More. Please! Can you...!”

Lewis looked down at James, writhing on the sheets in pleasure at his touch. He could do this forever. It felt like he had wanted this forever! Smiling, he pulled out the finger and rubbed some lube onto another two and pushed three fingers in more forcefully, twisting. James cried out and clutched the sheets, but Lewis felt his arse loosen, relaxing at his forceful touch.

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no! A bit! I don’t mind. Please sir, please...”

Hurriedly Lewis pulled out his fingers and, with shaking hands, ripped open the condom and pulled in down his shaft. He squeezed the remains of the lube over the tip before guiding the head to James’ waiting entrance. He eased himself slowly in, moaning deeply as he did so. He was right about what he’d said last night, he didn’t think he’d last much longer. He held James’ hips, adjusting the angle before pushing the legs up and out. “How supple are you pet?” he asked. “Shall we find out?” and he lay back down as much as he could onto James, still buried deep inside him. All the while James’ pale eyes regarded him in wonder, as if he were the most amazing man on the planet. James didn’t scream as his legs were pushed up and outwards at impossible angles, instead he curled his knee up and stretched the foot of the one resting on Lewis’ shoulder.

“It feels bloody amazing! Like we’re one person. So connected. Like I’m yours. I thought it would hurt more, but it doesn’t. Not now. Are you going to move Sir, or just look at me.”

“But you are a sight James. Bloody gorgeous. But I wanted to make sure you’re okay first before I....”

“I’m fine. Better than fine.” He smiled shakily.

Lewis pulled back to the tip and began to thrust deeply at the angle he had with his finger. He lay more properly on James, squashing James’ own hard prick between them, rocking against it with his belly with each firm thrust. James let out a cry that was half whimper, half moan and clutched at Lewis’ shoulders. Lewis did it again, and then again, each time James cried out, but it did seem to be pleasure not pain, so Lewis continued until he got to the point beyond all control, feeling the moment of orgasm approaching and nothing could have stopped him, even James changing his mind, which he didn’t. 

For a second, his eyes closed, the onrush of euphoria at the moment before ejaculation Lewis felt a moment of dizzy disorientation. Where was he? Who was he with? Where was Val? She should be under him...

But he came, panting, collapsing onto James and he opened his eyes to see the young, unlined face of a beautiful lad, of his sergeant, and it was alright. Alright that he’d found someone, alright that he was not alone anymore, even if it would never be alright that she was gone and never coming back. He was surprised he was weeping, he didn’t know until James was gently brushing away the tears, and then kissing them away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “so sorry. You’re lovely, you are, bloody gorgeous, and I can’t believe my luck that you let me do that. I love you, I do, I just...”

“S’sh. Don’t explain. I love you too. And I can’t believe I let you either, but it was amazing and I want to do it again and again and again. Every position we can manage. All the time. I love the feel of you inside me. I didn’t think I would. I thought I’d hate myself, feel guilty and unclean, but it was better than any fantasy and...”

“You shut up, you!” Lewis teased gently. As he came to himself more, became more aware, he realised James had come to, that cooling cum was running and sticking between them and that his limp, spent prick was sliding out of James and out of the condom. He hurriedly moved to pull himself out with the condom still attached to his prick and not left behind, grabbing a handful of tissues to wrap it in. He grabbed more tissues before wiping James up.

James lay there with a slightly dazed look still on his face, looking at him with the same awe and wonderment. What had he done to deserve such adoration?

“Come on you, we need to shower and dress, we got to get to this big out of town Tescos. We got food and stuff to get and we’re meeting a DI Lane and a DI Kersey at ten in the Tesco cafe. We can have breakfast first if we hurry. I’m starved. Sex always makes me famished.”

**

An older man was sitting with a blonde woman in jeans and elegant coat in the far corner of the supermarket’s cafe when they arrived, along with several elderly and old people and a few mothers with toddlers. They looked out of place so Lewis headed for them. The man stood up and showed a warrant card.

“Are you DI Lewis? DS Hathaway?” They nodded. “I’m DI Kersey and this is DI Lane. Doug and Lucy.” He had a rich Cornish accent and an unkempt beard. His anorak had seen far better days.

“Robbie and James,” Lewis replied and they sat down.

“Everything alright? No suspicions?” asked the young DI.

“Nah. Even made a show of asking the way here as we didn’t have time to pack properly. Struck gold last night.” Lewis glanced at James, who was still looking a bit dazed and lost. It was sweet, really, and he’d give anything not to do this and be back in bed with him. Not more sex, God he was too old for a rumpy pumpy marathon. But cuddling, yes, oh God, that would be so nice right now. He’d like to stroke that short piece of razored hair at the back of James’ head and hold him in his arms and tell him how much he loved him, how much he wasn’t going anywhere. He rooted in his pocket and handed his wallet to James. Kersey and Lane looked at him oddly. “Go get me breakfast, full English and mug of tea, and get yourself something lad, don’t want you fainting.”

He caught the suspicions glare. “Keeping all the expenditure to me. I take it I can put in an expenses claim?” Lewis asked dryly.

“I’ll run it by the boss.”

“Good. And your Chief Super was certainly onto something.” Lewis appraised them of all he had seen and heard. They questioned him and told him to stay put and await further instructions, and liked his quick thinking of offering to invest.

James returned with the food. He had bacon and beans and toast for himself, and a latte, of which Lewis approved. He worried his body language was all wrong, but perhaps it always had been. He wanted to over compensate, sit as far away from James as possible, and that made him realise he had always sat far too close. It was going to be a bugger keeping the changed relationship from the others at work. Maybe it had best to come clean, get James transferred. Although, he didn’t think James would stay if he did that, which was a shame as he was a bloody good detective. James had already said, hadn’t he, he was going when he retired.

Business over they made small talk, as the tables filled up around them, they acted like two couples who were vague acquaintances who happened to bump into each other doing the weekly shop. Two old buggers and their beautiful young blonds, thought Lewis. A likely story. Although, in a way, it was like a mirror. There was something bubbling under the surface with these two, he could tell. Kersey was obviously besotted with young Lane, he could tell, but she was harder to read. Embarrassed, yes, flattered, yes, but maybe, just maybe, like him: in denial, worried about work – not good for someone so young and female and come so far to blow it on an office romance – and perhaps the age difference too.

Lucy and Doug, too, found the Oxfordshire DI and his DS an odd pair. There was something going on between them, perhaps. The DS was away with the fairies, not there at all. Dazed and over awed, yet he gave the impression he was not usually like that, and they had read both men’s files. A Cambridge graduate, first class honours, distinguished himself for bravery on many accounts. A good CID officer. 

“Think they’ve taken the undercover gay couple thing a bit literally,” Doug asked Lucy as he got into her car.

She looked at him coolly for a few moments before she considered, “Yes. I reckon so,” she said before starting the engine.

**

James bimbled his way around the shopping, snapping out of his trance to object to microwave meals and start planning them in his head and focusing on the shopping, but that only sent him off on another happy, floaty wave of gratitude and contentment – here he was shopping with Lewis, planning a weeks cooking for them together, after they had had sex – sex! After they had made love, he corrected himself. It was all just suddenly too much. He was half convinced he was still asleep, that he’d fallen asleep in his sleeping bag in front of the fire in the caravan and Lewis was yet to come hone from the bar!

“Reckon we ought to go down here, get some... stuff,” Lewis said at the pharmacy area.

“Stuff?” James queried. “Oh... stuff!” he giggled, and once he’d started he couldn’t stop. Lewis had to pat him on the back as the giggling turned hysterical and then into a coughing fit. “You want... want to do it again?” he asked, amazed, once he got his voice back.

“Of course, like you said earlier, again and again and again...”

“Yes please then, but will you...” James blushed madly. Lewis grinned. It was so cute.

“Alright,” he said, leaving James with the trolley and walking down the aisle to find what they needed.

**

“So what now Robbie?” James asked some few hours later, presenting Lewis with a plate full of ham and cheese sandwiches with tomatoes and pickled onions with a mug of tea. Lewis had just got off the phone to Wycliffe.

“Um, go back tonight. Ask for the tour. Offer to invest. Find out when the next ‘shipment’ is due. They bring others through here destined for other places, I reckon.”

“What do I do then?”

“Well, I keep you apart, that’s what I said, so stay here, look pretty and cook me tea.”

“You putting me in purdah?” James laughed. “I hope this is just your undercover persona.”

Lewis scowled angrily. “’Course it bloody is. Val worked. Val ran the bloody family, I just did as I was told.” He caught the look on James’ face. “Oh, you’re teasing!”

“Yes sir,” James said solemnly. “And I shall endeavour to do my best at looking pretty and cooking your tea. How does chilli sound?”

“I hope all this food prep and cooking isn’t just an act. You can cook for me every night for the rest of me life pet.” He let go of his sandwich and grabbed James and pulled him down on to the bench in front of the table with him.

“Well I hope not every single night,” James said after he’d kissed him deeply.

“You can have off our birthdays, Valentine’s Day and our anniversary, can’t say fairer than that. I meant what I said last night you know?”

“What? You can’t marry me!”

“Pedantic sod!”

“Well, it’s not being a pedant. Theologically speaking, marriage should be between a man and a woman, but looking at it from an equality perspective, civil partnership isn’t marriage, is it? It’s a kind of apartheid equal but different thing, which isn’t equal at all. But that all aside, can I think about it? I have to think deeply about how much I want to reject my faith. It means so much –” James caught Lewis’ look. “No Sir! Don’t look like that! I know you think it’s all medieval and outdated, but it isn’t. I had my First Communion about the same time as Augustus started... on me, and it kept me sane. It was liked being touched, hugged, by God, receiving the Host. You rejected God through bad stuff, and that’s your choice, but He helped me. Belief in God, the comfort of Mass, the routine, the ritual, it was my rock in an unhappy childhood. I can’t just turn my back on God even if, even if... Oh God forgive me, you, now, us, it feels like God answered my prayers! He’s given me you, love, and chance of happiness.”

“Oh James. I’m sorry, I...”

“Please. Just give me time to work out how I feel.”

“Don’t you love me?” Lewis panicked. Now he had taken the plunge, admitted how much he needed James, how much he loved him, he couldn’t bear to lose him.

“No! Oh Robbie! I love you more than anything!” James showered him with tiny kisses, his cheeks, nose, eyelids, neck, earlobes, head. Robbie began to kiss him back, holding him tightly.

Then the phone rang. It was Innocent, wanting a brief update having been fobbed off by Cornish CID. Lewis wandered to the bedroom to talk to her. He was tempted to tell her he had broken regulations and intended to keep James and give up work if she wouldn’t transfer him immediately but he bided his time and kept to the facts of the case.

James had covered his lunch and was picking at his own, looking worried. “Okay?”

“Innocent. Are you okay?”

“I love you. I just need time to think about everything. How can I receive the Host? I suppose if we lived together I keep it secret, trust God in His infinite mercy to understand, but if we were married – people would have to know, the priest would know and deny me and...”

“This is all new to me pet. Me Mam was a Methodist and Val C of E and both were very liberal. I’m trying to understand but how can you think what we have is wrong. I want to love you, make love to you, and I don’t want you thinking there’s something wrong with that! I know your church is big on tradition and liturgy so its no good me just saying Jesus said nothing about being gay. If you want to take your time about thinking about marriage, that’s up to you. I pushed you. I pushed you into everything at once and...”

“You never pushed me. I have a tongue, I could have said no. I didn’t. I love you. I loved what we did. It felt... magically. Spiritual even. That’s why I feel so confused.”

“So, we have a week to figure it all out – work, if we stay at your flat or mine or both or what. Take you time James. And give us me lunch pet.”

**

Lewis had to come back late again, ringing DI Lane as soon as he got in, telling her about a ship coming in that had rounded the Iberian peninsular, carrying a bunch of African girls tricked and trafficked, thinking they were coming as a life as maids and children’s nurses, and another of a truck coming from Southampton docks with Russian girls to inform Hampshire Police about. He felt disgusted, dirty, but when he came in the caravan was warm and he could smell something doughy and chocolaty. James had been baking because,

“I was bored and there was only crap on the TV.”

“Oh wow! Marry me now!”

“Sir!”

“Joke, James. I know you’re working it all out.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t need to sound so forceful. I said sorry.”

“No. Yes. Yes I will!”

“Oh James!”

“I’ve spent my life going from one extreme to another, struggling for compromise, to fit in, to understand, but you love me and I’ve never had that. I don’t think God will condemn for wanting happiness and love, even if some people in the church will.”

“Oh James!” was all Lewis could think of to say. He knew that it could all seem so sudden, but that was how it had been with Val, one look and he knew, and a few weeks later he had followed her all the way to Oxfordshire to sit on her doorstep and wait for her, proposing over and over again until she took him seriously. And it isn’t such a sudden proposal really, was it? They’d had five years of a slow, leisurely courtship. And in some ways, they had been married for years. And now, as from last night, it was complete. He loved the feel of James in his arms, James’ lips on his, the little sounds he made in bed. He wanted it all, forever! ’Till death us to part. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and Lewis' morality took me over. This was supposed to be a short, plotless romp but the case fic grew and Lewis just wouldn't play ball and just push James like he was meant to, so not the dubious consent PWP piece I planned!


End file.
